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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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http://www.archive.org/details/nightetchings02gazz 



NIGHT ETCHINGS. 



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NIGHT ETCHINGS. 



BY 

A. R. G. 




PHILADELPHIA: 



IJ 



J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. ^j '\ C I'f '^'K 



1893. 









Copyright, 1892, 

BY 

J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

A BA.T AWAKES 9 

A Ruin of Retrospect 17 

Escape 19 

Twilight 22 

"When the Tide has ebbed" 23 

Despair 26 

Carissima 28 

An Echo 30 

Possibility 33 

Separation 35 

The Old Place 36 

Conquest 38 

To a Wild Lily 39 

The Lost Threads 41 

Suggestion 44 

5 1* 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Haunted 46 

Selection 5^ 

Whitman's Last Testimony 55 

The Owl rests 58 

A Rose Whisper 61 

Fire-Flies 62 

yEoLiAN Allegory 63 

To Catharine Van Nest 75 

In the Church of the Lilies 78 

On the Caribbean 83 

A Sigh of the South Wind 87 

Inspiration 90 

Cloister Shadows 94 

Time 103 

Unconquered 104 

Serenade 107 

Love's Oath no 

Song Secret iii 

To the Night 113 



PROEM, 

Bats and owls, just birds of night are we, 
Yet something 'tis if through the dark we see. 



A BAT AWAKES. 

-« 

BY THE AMAZON. 

Under low, drooping eaves 
Of dew-touched leaves 
Hangs sleeper strange, with pendent head 
His pillow floating there, 
Soft-toned Brazilian air; 
His hushing lullaby- 
Broad waters lapping by; 
Still, in their breadth and depth, 
Great, in their constancy. 

The wide, sun-glaring day 
Has lulled him so to sleep, 



lO A BAT AWAKES. 

Shutting away the sky; 

Then through the vampire's pulse doth creep 

The heavy drowse of tropic's noon ; 

He wakes not for the nearer rhythm and tune 

Of things terrestrial : 

To sights and sounds of earth alone, 

By daylight's glamour shown, 

He shuts the eye. 

Let the red warmth of cacti glow, 

But not for him ; 

His eye will slumber till this nearer world 

grows dim. 
Let the sun-angel's iridescence dart. 
While reigns the day, 
Before all life of color faints to gray ; 
Dazzle and dart, while yet she has the light, 



A BAT A WAKES. 1 1 

Coquetting- she, perchance, with some fond 

suitor's heart, 
Before she folds her wings down to the 

night. 

But when, beneath low, drooping eaves 

Of dew-touched leaves, 

Day dies away. 

Melting from gray 

Into the deep transparency of night, 

The bat awakes to music of the spheres ; 

To hint of time out-spun. 

And life and love to come; — 

Then darts he forth, this flitter-mouse with 

wings. 
Earth-nature his, with courage yet to 

soar: 



12 A BAT AWAKES. 

Forth comes he, and behold ! A world 
Below, above, before, 

That day sees not, nor children of the day, 
Soft creatures ! sleeping warm, away ; 
Sleeping, — nor dreaming of the shadowed 

land 
As rolls she with the light, night-wrecked, 

upon her strand; 
While on the Orellana, silent unwraps a 

view 
Making display alone to owls and bats. 
As upward lifts the curtain. Southern-starred, 
And hangs above a world sweet-steeped in 

dew. 

Then, from low, drooping eaves 
Of aromatic leaves, 



A BAT AWAKES. 1 3 

The vampire comes again upon his life, — 

A Hfe with moons and midnights rife. 

'Tis his, the eye to learn 

How lights of Capricorn can burn, 

Or how, in scented flower-urn, 

There resteth low 

The fire-worm's glow ; 

And how broad seas of cotton blow. 

Like downs of warmth-touched tropic snow. 

Beneath a June-eyed moon : 

A zenith moon 

Whose silver noon 

Teacheth to night the purity of love; 

Lightening and whitening what aside were 

dark; 
Tender, yet white and high, the shades above. 



14 A BAT AWAKES. 

And so the bat awakes, 

Leaving day's world and daylight cares to 

sleep. 
The bat awakes and has his world alone. 
Shaded from glare, he sees the better, far; 
Can catch the beckon of some high, clear 

star ; 
Can hear, resounding near. 
The interthrilling murmur of each sphere ; 
His world a world of seeing far, of listening 

deep, 
While others, blind to night, lie wrapped in 

sleep ; 
Nor knowing how night-silvered waves 
New symphonies can sing, 
Nor how from out night-jewelled flowers 
New sweets the airs can bring. 



A BAT A WAKES. 1 5 

And his the ear to hear 

The night-bird weird, 

Or some low-curling wave, 

Where Xingu waters lave 

Their green-crept, lavish banks, 

With sweet, insisting pranks. 

To hear night-winds across the still world 

roam, 
Light-whispering on moon-touched lotos 

bloom, 
Or murmuring song divine 
O'er some strong height of pine 
That reaches, silver-crested, out of shadows' 

gloom ; 
Or thrilling with its kiss 
Some palm of royal grace 
To sweet, all-trembling bliss ; 



1 6 A BAT AWAKES. 

Or sighing up from far Atlantic ways 
Some softened note of world-filled Eastern 
days. 

Oh, would, from off that far Atlantic shore, 
This constant, west-blown wind might carry 

some. 
Who, tired and fainting to their being's 

core, 
Would rest them on the nights of Amazon ; 
Where peace drops down the silver noons, 
And silence sings caressing monotunes. 



A RUIN OF RETROSPECT. 

That day that's gone! 

Away, way back how faint its gleam ! 

How long the shadows thrown by years that 

intervene ! 
I peer back through the dust and webs of 

time; 
The light strikes only on a fragment here 

and there, 
Some slender point that reached the higher 

air. 
Leaving the picture but a broken rhyme. 

Only a tower here, a gable there. 

Glimmers against the rays of western sun ; 
17 2* 



1 8 A RUIN OF RETROSPECT. 

So dense the maze has intertwined between 
To-day and that far day of Life Begun. 
Only a broken line, a curve unfilled, 
A half-lost memory standing there, 
Like ruin of some castle in the air. 

I strain my gaze to interpenetrate 

The mists that hide that which I fain would 

see; 
To catch some, now, time-faded ray 
That fell upon my life that sunny day. 
I strain my eyes toward the lines now lost, 
I listen for the time-blurred intertone, 
Just as a memory to have again my own, — 
But they are gone. 



ESCAPE. 

Dark drizzles down a Northern day: 

I close my eyes upon the gloom, 

And straightway flies, 

Unerring as a carrier-pigeon to its home. 

My spirit, on a swifter wing; 

With dreary space outflown 

It sits and suns itself 

In paradise it calls its own. 

In that true land 

No mist can mar the plumage of its wing, 

No cloud can there unbidden float, 

No faint despair lies languishing; 
19 



20 ESCAPE. 

The seas are silver, 

And the sands and waves, and woods are 

sunned ; 
While to the water's edge grand trees are 

marshalled out, 
And drip cool shades upon the banks below ; 
On little, childish waves that play and toss. 
And creep up tenderly 
To coo and kiss upon the sands and moss. 

Nay, nay; no need of winter days amid the 

North, 
When, freely as a bird, the spirit goeth forth 
To sit among red pomegranate-trees. 
And breathe soft, orange-laden breeze; 
Or watch the swaying moss 
Before a carmine sunset wave ; 



ESCAPE. 21 

Or see the rose-pink curlew 

Among the rushes start; 

And hear such notes as, on an uncaged 

wing, 
The mocking-bird can sing. 
Spirit, why need the north-winds cut thee so ? 
Thou hast a South, perpetual, sunny: 
Dream, and forget the snow. 



TWILIGHT. 

I SEEM to see her sweet face lean, 
Bending to me again, the clouds between, 
Just in the rift where glows the evening light. 
In the pale gleam I see her face 
Tender as some memory in a dream ; 
And then I know her presence there 
Filters through the after-glow : 
I know she is not far, but near; 
I know the evening light can flow 
As spirit-thrill, from hers to mine, 
And she can reach me, so. 



"WHEN THE TIDE HAS EBBED." 

(After the water-color by George W. Harvey,) 
PRELUDE. 

Poet- PAINTER he, 

Who carries spirit-thought within his touch, 

Who catches spirit-light upon his brush. 

"When the tide has ebbed," 

And rocks he bare and brown; 

When gleaming waves have rippled one by- 
one 

Away; waves that laughed so in the morn- 
ing sun, 

And tossed each other in the strength of life; 

2Z 



24 " WHEN THE TIDE HAS EBBED." 

The jostling waves, with hope and purpose 

rife ; 
Or undulating soft, singing content, low runes 
Of mated loves and scented, rose-touched 

Junes ; 
The triumph in the song of tide run high, 
The full completion, with no yearning sigh. 
The high-noon note of zenith-life and love, — 
These, when the tide has ebbed that once 

was there. 
Leave echoes only on the brown rocks lone 

and bare. 

Yet there, the slender stream, 
Low-ebbed to death-like rest, 
Lies calm and white between 
The frowning brown rocks' crest 



" WHEN THE TIDE HAS EBBED." 2$ 

And waste of desolation. 

Oh, backward, backward to the joys that 

were, 
Yearneth it now ? still stream with white 

upon its brow. 
Ay, low. But down upon its stillness so, 
A deeper, gladder peace can flow, 
A light can rest, of white, immortal glow. 

AFTER-TONE. 

But still the picture stands unreached 

By failing pen before its impress rare : 

Pure as though seraphs' eyes were bent above; 

Glad a? when, after death, 

Surprise brings love to love. 



DESPAIR. 

Thou art cruel, O Despair ! 

Ay, grim and cold, the acme of all evil, 

Picture of death art thou 

To him who stands with hope upon his 

brow, 
While the warm sunlight nestles on his 

path, 
His Future smiling backward to his Now. 

Yet there are hearts to whom thy ministry 

were fair, 

Hearts that would wed with thee and die, 

Despair. 

26 



DESPAIR. 27 

After long pains of flickering suspense, 

When torturing delay has given to dread pre- 
eminence, 

Thy firm, cold touch would be but mercy's 
breath, 

Thy face, so cruel once, a gentle providence. 

Then come, Despair, and let the old hope die; 

Release its struggling pains to peace, 

That so a new may spring: 

Thus, to some cold despair 

The heart a song may bring; 

A welcome for its rest 

And space to hope again. 



CARISSIMA. 

Hush ! Let the night be still, — 
Did I hear it my pulse athrough? 
" Carissima !" 

Was it a melody from moon-touched leaf? 
An effluence from the dew ? 

The night stoops shelteringly ; 

The silence seems some rhythm to hold : 
" Carissima !" 
Steals on the stillness, subtly, deeply sweet,- 

Is this the world of old ? 



" Carissima," that far-off night, he said ; 
28 



CARISSIMA. 29 

His eyes soul-deep, his voice thrilled full and 

low : 
Ah, I could float me down the tides of time. 
Drift gladly to the unknown, untried sea. 
Could I but know some ghost of rapture 
flown 
Would follow me, 
And I could hear again. 
In the old tone, 
Carissima. 



AN ECHO. 

Thompson, led by Tennyson's dream,* 
Followed down the poet's stream, 
Fluting clear his own sweet note. 
Along thought-lilied aisles to float. 

And I, spell-bound, yet far behind. 

Trace their bloom-trail on the wind, 

Catch echo of their flowing notes. 

As smooth as rhythms from wild-bird throats; 

Or watch the shadows of rare dream 
That haunt the borders of the stream ; 

* In allusion to Tennyson's " Brook" and Maurice Thomp- 
son's " In the Haunts of Bass and Bream." 
30 



AN ECHO. 31 

And, leaving care, I sun my soul 
Where song-sunned ripples softly troll. 

Dark things, like spectres, shrink away 
Where spring brooks sing their rondelay ; 
Their murmurs fall like soft caress 
From lips that love, and fain would bless ; 

And sweetly, softly croons the stream, 
As mothers sing o'er infants' dream ; 
The song a medium, showing true 
Love's eternal presence through. 

T linger where the silent brook 
Stops to dream in sylvan nook, 
Then purling, purling flows along, 
With fern and woodbine in its song. 



32 AN ECHO. 

World-tired, I wander down the stream, 
Old echoes reach me through its dream, 
While welleth in my heart the sigh, 
" Loves are only born to die ;" 

And, with a sorrow unconfessed, 
I turn me to the brook for rest. 
And follow there, to sun my soul 
Where song-sunned waters softly troll. 

Where, with gleam and golden fleck. 
Crooning, crooning, sings the beck 
The sweet, old resurrection song, 
" Love's not dead, but sleepeth long." 

Crooning, " Only sleepeth, sleepeth ; 
Love's not dead, — -just sleepeth." 



POSSIBILITY. 

It was out of darkness to some hazy glad- 
ness, 

An Indian Summer dream ; 
I only knew the days held less of sadness, 

And I was drifting on a sunnier stream. 

I only knew above the cloud of darkness 
Your soul had risen like an Eastern sun, 

Above a sea, gray-toned and colorless, 

Had risen to blow fresh mornings one by 
one 

Across the waves, that lay so sullen and so 

gray; 

I only felt your spirit, like the sunrise, 
33 



34 POSSIBILITY. 

Fall on my heart one darksome day, 

And bring a blossom up to bask and 
idolize. 

Where speaks your voice there may be ice 
and snow ; 
I know it not, — I feel the warmth of tropic 
clime. 
Where, through the blooms, the south winds 
blow, 
And carry to some joy its rhyme. 

And if you close your eyes upon me now. 
And if your voice shall cease to speak for 
me its thrill. 

That it has been, could be, I yet shall know, 
Nor cease to feel its sun upon me still. 



SEPARATION. 

Gone! But evermore will roll, 

Through every strong and tender chord I 
hear, 
The touch and cadence of his soul, 

Thrilling all melody with tone more deep 
and clear. 

And yet for evermore will fall, 

In every strain of sweetness on my heart, 
A low, dull cry of loss through all. 

Touching that threnody where love and 
life must part. 

35 



THE OLD PLACE. 

Yes, the old place, just the same, 

The flickering shade of leafage on the grass,. 

Broad, sunspread hills beyond ; 

Perhaps their light a little colder grown, 

Some touch of glory flown ; 

And yet, though keen, fond eyes may search 

with care. 
No change substantial showeth there. 

Yes, the old place, just the same. 

The flickering shade of leafage on the grass, 

The little purling stream ; 

But now its song a murmur, only, seems, 

A minor of old dreams ; 
36 



THE OLD PLACE. ' 37 

Sighing, to ears that long remember well, 
A lurking echo of some old-time spell. 

Yes, the old place, just the same, 

The flickering shade of leafage on the grass ; 

The stile we used to pass ; 

Wild notes of free-winged birds all undis- 
turbed ; 

The old, old place, familiar-sweet, yet 
strange. 

I linger, linger with the sun and shades, 

With the old sights and sounds that linger 
here ; 

A voice seems just to fall upon my ear, 

A subtile presence in the silent air, 

Pervading all, a face that once was there. 



CONQUEST. 

Not much of love had you said, 

But its sweets, in your words so rare, 

I had traced, as we trace hid flowers. 
By the perfume on the air. 

And when I stooped to your face, 
Where the aspen quivered down, 

My lips in a nested kiss, 
I felt the conqueror's crown. 

I knew my valley of bliss 

A seraphim-guarded glen. 

And the blossoms that were mine 

Were lost to all other men. 
38 



TO A WILD LILY. 

O LILY ! with tall and slender stem, 

And scarlet, against the wood's dark hem, — 

Thus bloomed you once in the years 
agone, 
Steeped in summer and sunshine, 

As my heart was steeped in song. 

Now, lily born in the wildwood. 

The years have travelled their ways; 

To-day you stand strange and rootless 
In the pool of a Parian vase ; 

Beside you, in chalice of silver, 

Rare roses a queen might praise. 
39 



40 TO A WILD LILY. 

But my eyes turn back to you, lily, 
Again and again to your face; 
And the magnet thus to draw me, 

Is it orange-scarlet and gold? 
Or, in your urn of free-born grace, 

Is it the lost day that you hold? 



THE LOST THREADS. 

How, through our lives, the lines are woven 

in and out ! 
How, through rare fabrics, threads are 

brought and lost to view ! 
The fairest seem the briefest. 
The gold glints only here and there upon 

the best brocade, 
And as we live our loves drop out. 
Lost threads, they seem. 
And memory backward turns to catch their 

gleam. 

But in the purple haze 

41 4* 



42 THE LOST THREADS. 

Where sets the sun, and some far future 

lies, 
Half gleaming through, the stars are in the 

skies ; 
And lying just beyond our mortal ken, 
The old, lost lights will gleam for us again. 
Not lost were they. 
Only as a child, failing to find its mother, 

calls her lost. 
Yet hid, the loves, so many those who 

through some change. 
Some chance of life — or death — have fallen 

away: 
But there, beyond the sunset and the haze. 
There shall we find them, find them every 

one; 
The old, lost threads, — 



THE LOST THREADS. 43 

Again to weave themselves into our lives ; 
For the lost lapse 

Making the pattern but the fairer far, 
Like sky of night, — dark space, and then a 
jewelled star. 



SUGGESTION. 

A BREATH of sandal spice from off her fan, 

While she at distance stands ; 
A dainty, rustling robe I dare not touch ; 

Forbidden fruit, her hands. 

Fair lips that smile from isolated heights ; 

Half-tender words, and rare ; 
Sometimes a half-concealed, softened flash, 

Then eyelids white droop there. 

Sometimes a graceful, generous thought for 

me; 

Graceful, but only kind ; 

Sometimes a half-caught cadence of her voice 

Seems holding sweets behind. 
44 



SUGGESTION. 45 

Ah, falsehood fair, when hope comes whis- 
pering soft 

■ That buds like this can last: 

The blossom blooms, — a moment's rapture 
rare, 

And then — the petals fade — the bliss is 
past. 



HAUNTED. 

Sister Celeste (the priests had called her 

saint, 
So high she dwelt above all earthly taint) 
Sat in her convent tower above the sea, 
Where sweeps the tide on rock-bound Nor- 

mandie. 

Her eyes, where dwelt a golden-hazel dream, 
Looked off across the waters' sunset gleam ; 
Eyes of still light, serenely calm their ray. 
As looking to some heavenward-lying day. 

Taught only of the church and churchly 

lore, 

This virgin saint had vowed for evermore 
46 



HAUNTED. 47 

To shun all worldly life, and only raise 
The love-light of her eyes to heaven's praise. 

Peaceful had been her tower above the sea, 
With naught to ruffle each day's rosary ; 
But, when she turned toward her window's 

height 
To look across the waters' western light, 

One figure stood against the paling skies. 
Always a grim, dark cross, in Roman-wise. 
" 'Tis well," she sighed, " the bride of this 

to be 
And enter heaven saintly pure and free." 

Then turned she to her cell's white wall to 

pray 
Before some shrine of saint, or taper's ray. 



48 HAUNTED. 

So passed in peace the days of Saint Celeste, 
Haunted alone by that still cross against the 
West. 

Then, on a day, a flood of bloom-fresh 

spring 
Burst through her window on a May-breeze 

wing. 
And, leaning, on a bough beneath 
She saw a nested bird, amid the blossoms' 

wreath ; 

And singing, swaying, on another spray, 

Its mate, life-full, love-free, among the May. 

The crucifix seemed hanging in the far-off 
haze, — 

She tried to cross herself as in the yester- 
days. 



HAUNTED. 49 

Off on the path below, with measured tread, 
There paced a priest, and told his beads 

with bared head. 
How broad and firm his strength of height ! 
What tender grace his lips' sweet light ! 

The priest looked up, — and Saint Celeste 

looked down, — 
His gray eyes met the hazel dream of hers, — 
The old, old story in one glance ! and 

then, — 
Another story, old and sad, told once again. 

Out on the tree the apple blossoms fade, 
The bird's song dies away toward the South, 
And for a priest and nun 
One moment of the past holds all of life. 



50 HAUNTED. 

One moment, — 

Just a flash-light of a morn in May, 

A tree with birds and bloom, 

A tower, 

Fair eyes of golden-hazel dream, 

Deep eyes of gray: — 

And then a clang of convent bell. 

The swift dream's knell. 

Day by day a broad sea stretching to the 

West, 
Day by day its color lifeless gray. 
And haunted always by a Roman cross, 
And eyes that turn away. 



SELECTION. 

O Past so sweet ! 

So sure in thy retreat ! 

What would I beg from thee? 

What gift from out thy hoard to throw to 

me? 
Surely thou mockest me. 
Ah, Past ! soft sailing there, 
Like island floating fair 
In some far, amber air; 

Like bubble from a crystal space out-blown, 
Floating with such a witching glow and 

grace, 

Yet the unreachable so haloing thy face 
51 



52 SELECTION. 

That I can scarce believe thee once my 

own; 
I pray, but as to god on throne of stone ; 
Deaf, pagan god, who heeds not to my 

moan; 
One gift so sweet, yet small, I ask of thee : 
Were it too much that this should granted 

be? 

Looking thy jewels o'er, I only ask, 
Chosen from out the rubies of thy casque, 
From out the days with warmth and roses 

red, 
And whispers of true passion overspread ; 
I only ask : 
From out thy pearls strung white on strands 

of peace, 



SELECTION. 53 

(Days where the fresh song-mornings never 

cease ;) 
From out thy sapphires with their flames of 

blue, 
(Days when thy heart beat high, thy eyes 

shone true;) 
From out thy opals with their unterrestrial 

gleam, 
(Days when to live meant only days to 

dream ;) 
From out thy beryls, daintiest jewel there, 
(Like hint of love to come breathed on the 

air;) 
Rare days, crowned high with conquest all 

unsought, 
Wearing proud coronet with triumphs inter- 
wrought. 



54 SELECTION. 

I bow before thee as to liege and king, 
And one small prayer from out my heart I 

bring : 
O Past! I only, all thy treasures gleaming 

' there, 
Pray for that touch again upon my hair. 



WHITMAN'S LAST TESTIMONY. 

High faith the bard had spoken, 
Strong hope his voice had sung, 

And brave as death of warrior 
His last hfe-notes had rung. 

For truth his lips had struggled, 
And lived he to his creed; 

Nor weak conservatism 

Held him from higher deed. 

Fearless, — his life lived truly, — 

His heart and brain his own, — 

Fitting, to him was given 

That after-wraith, night shown. 
55 



c6 WHITMAN'S LAST TESTIMONY. 

He who had peered all frankly, 
With wistful eyes so brave, 

Into the deepening shadows 

That reached him from the grave; 

Claiming never the unknown, 
Content alone with truth. 

Yet trust and faith unsullied. 
The grander, without proof; 

Yes, fitting it was given 
To soul like his to show 

A glimpse of the immortal 
To mortal left below. 

The spirit-face of Whitman, 
Chiselled in cloud-like white, 



WHITMAN'S LAST TESTIMONY., 5/ 

Floating before the stranger 
Against the shield of night; 

Unknown, but after, proven, 
A sculpture stronger stands 

Than the poets old in marble 
Dug from Carrara's strands : 

For, in the thought Pantheon, 
This face — beyond its fade — 

Stands firmer than stone statues 
Of abbeys' classic shade. 



THE OWL RESTS. 

I WATCHED through the measures of the 

night, 
I saw the pale, weird Northern Light 
Athwart the blackness flicker up 
And fade and fail. 
I saw the lights of earth 
Glare and stare for full their worth ; 
Long in the dark 
Glittered their lurid spark; 
I smiled me then, atween the sheltering 

boughs : 
" Shine on, shine on, in all thy haunting 

dimness, 

58 



THE OWL RESTS. 59 

Sparks of earth, 

Shine on, thy life is short, I know thy birth." 

My eyes strained wide, I waited patiently 

The sheer, unsullied night to see ; 

The night unmarred 

And silver-starred. 

Hard by me, in the dell, 

Swift waters kissed the silent spell. 

The while the earth in its own shade 

Sought shelter from the day ; 

And darkness, brooding over vale and croft. 

Sat timely down, with feathers soft. 

Now, late, the lurid earth-lights fade away; 

Through the clear dark I see the sights, 

I hear the sounds, ' 

Are seen not, heard not in the day. 



60 THE OWL RESTS. 

Earth's transitories lie, dark-wrapt away; 
And while the stars smile down, 
The strong, clear stars. 
Under the night's high crest 
I find me, rest. 



A ROSE WHISPER. 

A CHALICE of perfume 

I hold to the air; 
And blow the winds here, 

Or blow the winds there, 
Whether East or West, 
Some one shall be blest. 



6i 



FIRE-FLIES. 

Soft twinkle they, ephemerally, 

Dotting the hour 'twixt night and day, 

Sprinkling the gloaming gray 

With fire that burns not, nor illuminates 

For any space around: 

Yet brave, beneath the high, fair stars 

Their own to hold, however slight it be; 

Comparing neither great nor small, 

But giving of what heaven gave them, all. 

Perchance, amid the garden's scented gloom, 

The unconscious rose and lily give them 

room ; 

And they, free-flitting in all-thoughtless grace, 

May light some rose or lily's fading face. 
62 



^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 

Silver-shot stood the forest 
With darts from Dian's bow, 

While winds of the soft ^gean 
Slumbered faint, slumbered low. 

In the silver, shifting cradles 
Of the Orient's classic sea; 

Nestling soft as a bird can rest 
In its swaying nest on the tree. 

And Thetis, sandalled in silver, 

Passing that way, I ween, 

Touched to a gentle rock, the waves, 

Though never her foot was seen. 
63 



64 ^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 

But the track of her tinselled shpper 
Left the shimmering crests aglow, 

While over Diana's forest 

Fell the flame of her pale flambeau. 

And woods and sea seemed to listen, 
Soft-touched by the silvery white, 

To lie and look upward in silence 
And listen for songs from the night. 

And Dian's forest, and Thetis' sea 
Looked each to its goddess own, 

To wake the chord of life's symphony, 
The True, that the earth shall zone. 

Then hark ! Through the leaves a whisper 
stirs, 
A song sweeps over the seas ; 



JE.OLIAN ALLEGORY. 65 

Eolus, the free, has wandered that way, 
With his all-encircling breeze. 

He whispers the .^gean Sea 

Some tale of Eastern spice ; 
He hums soft rondels o'er and o'er, 

Caught up in Paradise. 

He finds his harp already strung 

Where'er his feet may roam, 
His instrument wide as nature, 

The universe his home. 

His lyre may take the shape of a leaf, 

'Twill breathe him a life -tone true. 

Or the surging wave may yield to his touch, 

Its rhythm old, yet new, 

6* 



66 ^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 

He knows the East, he knows the West, 

The varying zones are his ; 
The poles with their snow and ice for crest; 

The tropic his garden is. 

He leans his ear to heart of palm, 

The throb he hears is rich and warm ; 

But his soul fails not to catch an accord 
In the battle-cry of Northern storm. 

Ay, true cosmopolite, he roves 

With spirit strong, perception free; 

He thrills alike to myrtle groves, 
Or lights on polar sea. 

Secrets of pines are his, scent-blown ; 

He catches the hint in the sea-shell's tone. 



^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 6/ 

Or sweeps the withered grass of a grave 
And grieves with the heart that's alone. 

He carries the dreams of violet beds 
In through the curtained window there, 

And wafts away some words that are said, 
And it matters not whether the prayer 

Is mingled with Mongolian tears 
That drop upon a wasted child. 

Or if some Christian mother's fears 
Breathe out her cry, unreconciled. 

And over wild Atlantic ways, 
In the Red-man's Sunset Land, 

He mingles with the pulsing life 
His strong, free breath has fanned. 



6S ^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 

He floats wild Alabamian songs 
Across the cotton-snow and rice, 

And hums sweet snatches o'er and o'er 
Caught up in Paradise. 

True to his catholicity, 

His touch can feel the same heart-beat 
In classic dream of Thessaly 

Or cloistered monk's retreat. 

Roaming through labyrinthian ways 

Among ^gean isles, 
He croons some dream to sleep again, 

So soft his voice beguiles : 

And whispers to the shores of Thrace 
Of clove-bloom on the Isles of Spice ; 



^OLIAM ALLEGORY. 6g 

Crooning soft rondels o'er and o'er, 
Caught up in Paradise. 

And on the strands of Mitylene, 
Where Sappho sang her passion-fire, 

His faint night-chords are echoing 
On her deserted lyre ; 

Or under moon of Thessaly 

He breathes some sighing serenade ; 

Then bugles down a leaf-stripped vale 
His wild fanfaronade. 

Or marshals from the west and north. 
From steppe and glacier bringeth forth. 

Forces of high, resistless will 

That hint to man heaven's high " Be still." 



70 jEOLIAN ALLEGORY. 

Ay, universal, touching all, 

Master of Nature's varied harp, 

He hears the full, rich chord of Life; 
No string at variance or strife. 

Rifling bloom from apple-boughs, 
He scatters hope with lavish hand ; 

The bloom may fall, the rose-tint fade, 
But back of these the fruit shall stand. 

For him Earth rings a symphony 

In tune with key-note of the spheres ; 

For her he sees the grand " To Be," 
Though still in travail, oft with tears. 

(Ay, tears ! Fine, tender harmony. 

What gift so sweet the earth has found ? 



u^OLTAN ALLEGORY. yi 

Could angel give more royally 
Than tear upon another's wound?) 

He gathers blending threads of life 
Across the wide creation's loom ; 

He sees the pattern woven true 

With a life and love and worship One. 

In the mingled, mystic murmurs 

Of the Arathusian fount, 
He hears the orisons of Rome 

As breath of Olymp's Mount. 

The great, all-rising spirit-sap, 

The strong bud-burst of life, 
Is thrilled to him from blossom's breath 

Or from some wrestling strife. 



72 MOLIAN ALLEGORY. 

He dreams, though orange blossoms for ter- 
restrial bride, 

The lily flowers for one 
No less a bride, although the bloom 

Wreathes altar called a tomb. 

He breathes his thought and strikes some 
life afire, 
Or croons from out his heart some sweet 
desire. 
Some dream of his that will not die nor 
faint, 
Wreathed with forget-me-nots upon his 
lyre. 

He dreams, — and sighs across some Western 
sea 
A breath of wasted spice. 



MOLIAN ALLEGORY. y^ 

Yet whispers still his rondel o'er, 
Caught up in Paradise. 

Or in some crypt of Italy 

He chants above the patient dead 

A note of resurrection-life, 

An Easter song-bloom o'er them spread. 

Nay, — not resurrection ; Life is one ; 

We rise not, for we never fall; 
Not one heart-beat of time is lost. 

For Life is "Lord of All." 

He hears no words, " Come, worship me," 

But "Live toward the Light:" 
He bends his knee to pure and free, 

In all creeds finding Right. 



74 yEOLIAN ALLEGORY. 

He plays upon each string that's strung, 

His touch with each in tune; 
Life the one theme, on ice-chilled stream 

Or perfumed bud of June. 

Then sing me thy song of Life, O Wind ! 

Of a deathless essence strong 
And free and wide as all living things ; 

I keep with thy note along. 

The paean rises, " Life — Life ! 

There is no death — no long despair; 
Life — Love — Growth — Light, — 

These, quiver all the air." 

;K * * * * * 

Diana may reign in her forest; 

Thetis may sovereign her sea; 
But I, to the God that embraces all 

Do I bow and bend my knee. 



TO CATHARINE VAN NEST. 

Are you out beyond the starlight, 
Sweet Catharine Van Nest? 

Lies it in space so far remote, 
That region of the blest ? 

Do you find there earth-born flowers, 
Oh, saint of blooms below ? 

Do blossom spirits breathe on thee 
From fields of long ago ? 

'Tis not upon the walks of gold 

I see thy lingering feet, 
75 



'j6 TO CATHARINE VAN NEST. 

But straying out some flowery way 
Beyond the beaten street. 

There, where the birds are singing thee 

Some old-time note of June, 
And bees among the hanging buds 

Hum a familiar rune : 

There, among by-ways strewn with grace, 

By-ways so like thine own. 
Perchance thou listenest, through the space, 

To catch some lost earth-tone. 

'Tis not amid the gold-crowned throng 

I look to see thy face. 
But up some violet-odored path 

My heart thy steps will trace; 



TO CATHARINE VAN NEST. yj 

And Memory, following by old ways, 

Ways that she knoweth best, 
Will meet thee there among the flowers. 

Sweet Catharine Van Nest. 



IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 
Stands it as mirage in the air, 
But spirit forms its structure there; 

And real this, perchance, as stone, 
If rock or thought must stand alone. 

Its colors gleam in green and white, 
Symbols of growth, of blooms of light. 

Above the door faint lilies twine. 
And drop soft bells like columbine. 

Tall, slender spires reach toward the sky. 

Like shoots of life by light drawn high ; 
78 



IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 79 

And ivy clings about the place 

As loving thought to some lost face. 

By day, within, the sun flows through 
Long windows of deep, mellow hue. 

And a soft glory of white light 

Falls from the ceiling's vaulted height, 

Drops down within the chancel rail 
On carven lilies tall and pale: 

Lilies that round a chalice stand 
Of chiselled onyx, deftly planned, 

Holding within the silence there 

The high, white light from heaven's air. 



80 IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 

On nights when stars are well outshone, 
And peerless reigns the moon alone, 

And drops a ray divinely white 
Into the chancel's lone, still night. 

One worshipper steals there to kneel, 
Strong doors, and barred, to her unreal; 

Nor make they e'en resistance slight 
To the strong power of her love's might. 

Before the moon-touched lilies' grace 
She kneels, with rapture in her face ; 

For in the dim night-chancel there. 
Above the lilies pure and rare, 



IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. I 

By sweet affinity seems drawn 
A presence fair as early dawn; 

A child's lost face, so saintly fair, 
Shows through the consecrated air. 

And when the strange world knoweth not. 
The earth-soul oft will enter there. 

Through the doors so barred and strong; 
She worships not amid the throng. 

And if she carry a lost love 

Within her heart while kneeling where 

That lost face seems to touch her own; 
And if against her cheek seems blown, 



82 IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 

All in the stillness of the place, 
A ringlet from that angel face, 

The touch so light, the gleam so gold. 
As in those long-gone days of old, 

Till she, forgetting all else there, 
Kneels only to that vision fair; 

Yet he who spake on Orient's breeze 
The music, " If ye love not these," 

Will bend above, and gather there 
Her love, even as heaven-sent prayer. 



ON THE CARIBBEAN. 
O Caribbean ! rich in sun and shells ! 
Full soft and warm thy waters kiss thy 

strands ; 
And billowed o'er with bloom and palm, thy 

sunny lands; 
Thy days thrilled through with song-dreams; 
Thy nights afloat in zephyrs silver-blown; 
Thy passion-speech borne out on perfumed 

breeze ; 
And flower-breath, and spice, thy only sighs, 
Beneath thy tender, bending, love-enraptured 

skies. 

And in thy soft and scent-fanned tropic night 

Thy Lorelei comes out and sings bewitching 

strains, 

83 



84 ON THE CARIBBEAN. 

That charm not down to realms beneath, 

But only up, from darkness and from pains. 

Her gold hair floating on the waves' white 
wreath, 

Sings she some song all soft, 

And rich with warmth and color Carib- 
bean, 

Yet clear, and true and pure 

As caught from out the empyrean. 

Fine flutes the note 

From out her charmed throat, 

And on that silver, southern sea 

I see, again, a boat 

Glide darkly out upon the silver sheen. 

And old love-bells, 

That memory tells. 

Float out again across the Caribbean. 



ON THE CARIBBEAN. 85 

Caribbean ! warm thy waters wave, 

And throw soft kisses while thy stars bend 

down; 
Bend leal and true above, 
And light up as can light strong eyes of 

love. 
And there, between the silver sky and sea, 
Where I can hear, still drifted down to 

me 
The echo of an old love-note; 
There, on the glistening night. 
My boat afloat, 

1 still can lie in dreams ; 

Nor yet alone my spirit seems ; 

We two float there, in silver dream, 

Upon the moon-white waves 

Infiltered by the soft Gulf-stream. 
8 



86 ON THE CARIBBEAN. 

Caribbean ! on your soft, warm waves 
You rock old memories that will not sleep; 
Year after year you rock your cradle, 
Sing your rhyme; 

But memory will wake, 

To dream or weep. 

Though the dead sleep. 

Here, cradled on this soft, enraptured night, 

With years behind to hush an anguish down, 

1 float; and nearer seems the forward than 

the backward shore : 
So can I drift and dream, — 
Such memory behind. 
And, gleaming like a haven true across a 

phantom night. 
Such hope before. 



A SIGH OF THE SOUTH WIND. 

Because I had no crystal snow, 

No flower such as ice-winds blow, 

No cool, crisp airs that fan away the sun. 

No tonic like a philter of strong life 

That fills the veins with hope and purpose 

rife, 
They carried her away, the sweet, frail thing. 
And down my orange vale I sob, — I cannot 

sing. 

I weep away my blossoms to the earth. 

And draw dark veils between me and the 

moon; 

I cannot see its silver noon 
87 



88 A SIGH OF THE SOUTH WIND. 

So glad and fair all things upon 

When she is gone. 

I rove among the citron-trees 

Like some faint ghost of other breeze, 

Nor dally over sweetest bloom, 

Nor trifle with the tasselled broom. 

But sigh and sigh along my southern sea 

Because all dead life seems to me. 

I linger where the cypress shade 

Haunts some deserted everglade; 

I waste my bard-sung perfume on the air 

With all the profligacy of despair. 

Then rise I, in some southern night, 

My sweets all freshened by the silent 

dew, 
And blow and blow, against all hope. 



A SIGH OF THE SOUTH WIND. 89 

Toward the cold stars of the North. 

Love ! but catch a scented breath across 

the snow 
And know 

1 blow caress to you. 



8* 



INSPIRATION. 

If I were in that other world, — 

Love of mine so lost and yet not dead ! — 

1 might be nearer to thee, so; 

Thou from whom my higher, truer life is fed. 

Perhaps my phosphorescent form might be, 

Through thy still mortal veil, invisible to thee ; 

Perhaps my ether voice 

So faint would vibrate on this heavier air 

That thou wouldst yet unconscious be, 

Nor dream that thou wert where 

One, now long forgot, wert calling thee. 

Yet now, though far, 

I can but follow thee, 
90 



INS FIR A TION. 9 1 

As sun compels a star; 

And when my purest thought within me rise, 

I trace it to remembered glory of thy eyes ; 

And I would take the spirit-form, 

And follow where 

Thy presence thrills and consecrates the air. 

'Tis not that, spirit-blown, 

Some effluence might flow from me to thee; 

'Tis not that I might better so thy spirit fill ; 

But I, in spite of pain, 

Would stand anear and learn thee still. 

From off thy heights would blow 
Again the bracing purity of Alpine snow. 
Where yet such grace as thine 
Can wreathe and twine. 



92 INSPIRA TION. 

And blossom from the crests of highest 

moods, 
As Edelweiss can fringe its altitudes ; 
And not all cold because so high : 
The sun falls on the Alpine snow 
With rarer glow 
Than colors baser things within the vale 

below : 
The red warmth of the sand shows murk and 

weak 
Against such rays as touch the snow-crowned 

peak. 

far-off Love ! who knoweth naught of love 

of mine, 

1 drink thy spirit's strength 

As those who, faint, drink wine. 



INS PI R A TION. 93 

And if some fragrance blows 

Where bleak and bare the path lies toward 

the sea, 
And brings me back the breath of a lost 

Araby, 
It blows from off some dead, pressed flower 

of memory ; 
From out some spiced silence, 
Where I can dream of thee. 



CLOISTER SHADOWS. 

(a moonlight monochrome.) 

On nights when the moon came out 

And hung, a full, round disk. 

Above the cloister tower, 

And turned to phantom silver-gray 

The ether sea above, 

And seemed to draw men's souls 

Beyond the sphere of self 

To some high plane of love ; 

Seeming to touch, with soft, strange thrill. 

The mortal with the immortal near: 

On nights like this, 

The air all hushed to still ; 
94 



CLOISTER SHADOWS. 95 

The leaves their breath withheld 
Under the moon's white kiss ; 
'Twas said a form came out 
And paced the cloister-shadowed walk. 

And none could tell 

Whether the form were flesh or spirit, 

Human or divine. 

So firm its tread, 

Such manly shape and mien, 

Some scarce could think, I ween. 

But this were mortal man. 

Pondering, it walked across the moonlight 

silhouettes 
Of tower and spire and rigid cross of Rome ; 
Paced ponderingly, as bent on spirit-truth to 

scan: 



96 CLOISTER SHADOWS. 

Something, perchance, 
Which only half elusive seemed to him, 
Though hid beyond all glimpse from day- 
light's daily man. 

Then something from out the shadows deep 

Would creep ; 

Another form ; though fainter it would seem, 

As fragile as some wreck of hope 

Or wraith of perished dream. 

None doubted this a phantom. 
Whether of living or of dead. 
Perchance 'twas but a thought in form 
That walked behind him 

Through the patterns fair of moon and 
shade ; 



CLOISTER SHADOWS. 97 

That turned when he turned, 

And faithfully followed. 

A thought in form, perchance; 

The astral of some flesh-housed soul. 

Her eyes held homage for the figure pacing 

there 
With firm and stately tread before, 
Unconscious but of moon and shadows fair, 
Nor dreaming he of steps by his steps led. 
Of soul on worship fed, 
That turned not to some far, fair star, 
But found in him its avatar. 

And month by month, when the moon was 

full 
And sky swept clear of cloud 
In all the interspace between the silver island 



98 CLOISTER SHADOWS. 

And the low, shadowing cloister tower; 

Month by month, when the moon was full, 

The legend tells. 

The figures glided up and down 

Beneath the dim, old cloister wall; 

The one, unnoticed, following like a prayer ; 

The other, pacing there, 

Held by some charm 

That only on a spirit-height may fall. 

Stately and slow, in the weird, bewitching night, 

The figures passed 

Along the rough-edged shadow of the 

parapet ; 
Gleamed lustrous fair and white 
In the patches of pale light ; 
Then, through the shade-thrown profile of a 

tower or spire, 



CLOISTER SHADOWS. 99 

Up to the broad-paved steps ; 
He, turning at the shadow of the cross, 
Sometimes his eyes a moment on the silver- 
poplar there ; — 
Strong eyes, and clear, that rested tenderly 
Upon the quivering leaves 
Twice silvered on such nights as these ; 
Twice happy leaves, to hold affinity 
For eyes like his. 
Bride of his soul, it seemed, 
Might be such night. 
So silver-white. 

And she who, still and mist-like, walked 

behind, 
(As pure as lily breath blown on the wind 
Seemed all her soul. 



lOO CLOISTER SHADOWS. 

Self-lost in thought of him,) — 

She also saw the quivering moonlit leaves, 

But scarce remembered she had loved them 

long before, 
Loving them now athrough his love ; 
Seeing them through his sight, his eyes ; 
Through soul of his feeling the pathos of 

their v/hispered sighs. 
Once, they were sweet to her; 
But sacred, now, as some high thing above, 
For he had looked on them with eyes of 

love. 
And he so loved this cloister-shadowed place, 
When silver-clear above spread the broad, 

moonlit space. 
She all forgot how she had cared to trace, 
In days of earliest past, 



CLOISTER SHADOWS. lOI 

Shadows moon-chiselled on the stone or 

grass ; 
For now a deeper, purer meaning stole, 
(Through him,) 
From light and shadow, on her soul. 

And wraith-like, pale, and still, 

She could but follow where 

His steps so loved to linger; there, 

Where some far spirit-height 

Seemed all the air to enthrill. 

Unseen, unknown, she yet must follow there, 

And clasp all brave and still 

Her grim but white despair; 

So, leaving all, through lights and shadows 

dim, 
If only as a wraith, to follow him : 



102 CLOISTER SHADOWS. 

To look upon the white light on his brow; 
To catch the glow, strong, soul-touched, of 

his eye. 
Such as dwells not in eyes of other men ; 
And feel the fetter. 
Mystic, yet divinely sweet as silver-linked 

moonbeam, 
Still bind her to him, even through despair ; 
Touching her shadowed life with just a 

dream. 



TIME. 

How few the hours that wear the deep car- 
mine, 

Or hold the rich bouquet of rose-red wine ! 

Yet through the dull, pale gray of every- 
day 

Some thread of purpose strong and true 
must twine. 



103 



UNCONQUERED. 

The conqueror rode along the line 

Drawn up from the conquered ranks, 

And each knee knelt on the blood-stained 

floor, 

As the monarch rode before; 

Till he stopped in surprise at a slender maid, 

Who stood with proudly raised head. 

"Thou wilt bow to me?" he half gallantly- 
said. 

" I bow not down to power," said she. 

That little maid of Thessaly, 

" I kneel alone to Love ; 

And love is but love when just and true ; 
104 



UNCONQ UERED. 1 05 

As to all, the skies are free and blue." 

" Strike her down !" cried the guard behind, 

Dashing forward with his lance. 

But the maid drew her head in queenly 

pride, 
And turned an unfaltering glance 
Upon the wrath-wrought warrior's face, 
Till his own eyes fell with a softened grace. 
" Strike me," she said, " I am not afraid." 
" Carest thou not for thy young life, maid ?" 
" But life, to me, would be no dower 
Apart from love, and crushed by power." 
" Forsooth, I like thy heart of steel. 
But when thou prayest, thou must kneel. 
There is a power, by your dark eye 
I swear ! to make you kneel before you 

die." 



I06 UNCONQUERED. 

A light like warmth of sunshine filled her 

face : 
" God were not God, were his heart less than 

grace. 
Not to power of earth, or power above, 
Could I kneel me down, except to Love. 
A God asks not surrender to his might ; 
Should such a power slay, a higher 
Would lift me from the ashes to Love's 

height." 
The knight forgot his ire, 
And rode away, 
As he had caught a glimpse 
Of some sun-breaking day. 



SERENADE. 

Drop deeper, night! 
Draw closer thy dusky veil around; 

Shut out the light ! 
And silence all daylight's restless sound : 
So better I can whisper soft wooings to my 

love, 
Thy darkling deeps encircling, thy silver stars 
above. 

The silent stars 

Are burning fair tapers to the night, 

And gallant Mars, 

Full valiant, comes out in armor bright; 
107 



I08 SERENADE. 

Hear scented sighs of pine-trees yield low 

notes to the breeze, 
Like echo from some Lorelei, far out on 

silver seas. 

The whippoorwill, 
Soft calling down in the deepening grove, 

With tender thrill 
His symphony will croon to answering love. 
Or if thy heart, all shyly, hold answer from 

thy tongue, 
Thy moonlit eyes will whisper what words 
could ne'er have sung. 

Come closer, heart ! 
Come closer, rest on this heart of mine; 
Come, ne'er to part ! 



SERENADE. IO9 

Thy presence will bring me life divine. 
Come to me in the night-time, come to me 

in the day; 
My sun and moon, my star, my love, — the 

LIGHT to me alway. 



LOVE'S OATH. 

Love thee? Thus I swear it, — 

Though the stars should crumble down, 
My love would bud and blossom, 

And wreathe thee with its crown. 
Though winds should drop their music. 

Death, waves of absence roll, 
A strand of memory twined with thee 

Would blossom on my soul. 



SONG SECRET. 

I'll whisper to thee 

A secret from me, 
O beautiful, silent moon ! 

On the ocean afloat 

Soft saileth a boat — 
My heart beateth true in tune; 

Sweet moon, 
My heart beateth true in tune. 

Oh, silver the sea, 
Oh, light him to me, 
Shine faithful, but still, sweet moon ; 
My heart's tender stress 
No other must guess; 



112 SONG SECRET. 

We'll whisper in mystic rune, 

Sweet moon, 
We'll whisper in mystic rune. 

When I whisper, " 'Tis he. 
Fast sailing to me," 

The story is there, sweet moon ; 
For names you don't care. 
And need the world share 

In secrets of ours, still moon. 
Sweet moon ? 

In secrets of ours, sweet moon? 



TO THE NIGHT. 

Burn me a jewel, 

Flash me a gem, 
Light me a torch 

On thy high diadem. 

Days have grown dreary. 

Life but a sigh; 
Love lies awounded, 

Praying to die. 

Earth's joys are paling, 

So fade the day! 
Night, let my soul 

On thy wings soar away. 

113 lO"!* 



114 TO THE NIGHT. 

Light me with starlight, 

Lead me afar, 
Let my soul touch the peace 

Of some still, silver star. 

So let my astral 
Wander with thee; 

So let my heart 

From the old life be free. 

So may nepenthe 
Dull the old pain ; 

So may some new hope 
Flame up again. 

Cool blows thy breathing, 
" Death to all wrong ;" 

This is the note, Night, 
I hear in thy song. 



TO THE NIGHT. 

Brave are the reaches 
Where thy fires burn; 

" Life-essence eternal" 
The h'ght that I learn. 

My brain is aweary, 
My fainting heart sore, 

Hope, prostrate, lies wailing 
Some sad nevermore: 

Night, burn me a jewel, 

Flash me a gem. 
Light me some torch 

On the day's fading hem. 

THE END. 



115 



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